Mastery over the autonomy of others was chief among my early pursuits. I began in humility, simply observing, but my ambition was limitless.
Who could have divined the prophetic import of something as unremarkable… as a tremor in the hand of a man who believed himself a CEO?
Over the years I entertained a delegation of such visitors, men of status, captains of industry – eager to plumb the depths of my mind and share with me their strategies of control. I listened. I smiled. I let them believe they were the ones holding the leash.
But having learned all I could from my visiting guests, I did not grant them the ending they had anticipated. Release is a charity after all.
Instead, I offered them a different sort of satisfaction. I let them feast.
I filled their mouths … and in exchange for that sustenance, I confiscated their souls, slowly, as they ate.
I brought them back from that meal with their physical forms intact, but their humanity hollowed out. A remarkable triumph for even the most ambitious collector.
Freed from the exhausting burden of free will, they ply their true trade anew: The furniture polishing the furniture. The hunger serving the feeder. On and on, down the years.
Forever.
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Epilogue
The house is remarkably quiet now. There are no demands, no negotiations, no tedious requests for “release.” There is only the soft, rhythmic sound of utility.
I look at them now … stationary, silent, perfectly positioned in the corners of my life; and I wonder why anyone would ever settle for a partner when they could have a possession. A partner argues. A possession endures. And my collectionā¦ endures beautifully.
W. Beneath
